


Unique in All the World

by jetlagged_chinchilla



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, No Smut, POV Rick, Rick and Michonne are not a couple and don't live together, Swearing, The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, prison Negan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-06-27 04:00:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15677610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jetlagged_chinchilla/pseuds/jetlagged_chinchilla
Summary: Rick is lonely and Negan is pissed at him. Rick finds inspiration from a classic children's story he reads to Judith.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All the italic words inside of brackets [ ] are from the book The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. If you've never read it, I recommend reading Chapter 21 from it (you can Google it), but this fic will make sense even if you don't read it.

Carl was right. He was right all along. This was the better way. No more fighting, no more killing.

Rick's family was smaller now, decreasing in size every month, every week, even every day it felt like someone else was missing. Carl was dead now. Carol was living in the Kingdom. Morgan had disappeared. Maggie was running the Hilltop along with Enid, and even Daryl was spending more and more time there.

Michonne was out on a major run with Aaron and Rosita. They would be gone for weeks, no telling when they would return. Rick stayed behind to take care of things in Alexandria. There were plenty of things to do after all, that required his attention. Expanding the garden, fortifying the wall, building new storage houses and addressing all of the random and inane problems that the Alexandrians bothered him with. And then there was of course taking care of the prison. Well, not really a prison, just a single jail cell with only one inhabitant, Negan.

Rick sighed as he rubbed his beard with a free hand. He had often wondered if he had made a wise decision to keep Negan in the cell. Many of his people wanted the former Savior dead, some had went pretty ballistic when Rick had announced that Negan would not be killed. But time had passed and everyone calmed down, begrudgingly accepting the new reality. No, Rick did not regret letting Negan live. Oh for sure Rick had in the past wanted to kill Negan with every fiber of his being, but Carl had shown him a better way.

Carl, who pleaded with him in his last dying breaths to stop the war. Carl, who wrote in his letter to Rick to offer peace to Negan. Carl, who wrote in his letter to Negan to accept the offer. But that didn’t happen, Rick thought with a heavy heart. Rick didn’t make the offer, and instead they went to war, tried to kill each other, which ended up with Rick slashing Negan’s throat.

He should have done it Carl’s way. Made peace earlier on, and maybe they could have helped each other instead of fighting. Maybe they could have been allies instead of bitter, resentful enemies. It seemed so far fetched, the very idea of it, but it was too late now. He would never know what could have been.

It was uncomfortable, going down those stairs to Negan’s cell to deliver him meals. Negan was definitely not a happy camper, sitting behind those bars, and he made it known. He gave Rick the silent treatment, yes - Negan, giving the _silent treatment_ , which was unbelievable. Every time Rick would start to say something, Negan would snap angrily with a terse, “Fuck off”. Gone was all the humor, the showmanship, the bantering that Negan was known for, the only thing left was seething hatred, words dripping with snarling angry attacks, meant to cut down and hurt, all reserved for Rick.

Negan didn’t treat others that way, Rick had found out. Sometimes Michonne or Gabriel had been the ones to bring Negan’s food to him when Rick hadn’t been available. Rick had asked them about the prisoner’s angry reclusive behavior, and was surprised to hear that Negan actually talked to them, asked them questions, even thanked them for bringing his meal. This was a stunning revelation, leaving Rick feeling a strange sense of uneasyness and bewilderment, and if he dared admit it, he felt...hurt.

He wished it wasn’t this way. He would have liked to at least be civil to each other. But he supposed that cutting your enemy’s throat and then throwing him into a jail would erase any chance of civility. Of course Negan would hate him. He had toppled Negan from power, taken away all that he had built away from him, turned his world upside down. He was living the life of luxury at the top of the food chain and now was a lowly prisoner in a dank, dark cell. Yes, of course Negan hated him.

Rick walked back to his house after a long weary day. It was almost an empty house now, save for a toddler in the upstairs crib. He cleaned himself up, fed Judith and walked them both back to her room, sitting down on the plush brown sofa chair in the corner, setting the small girl on his lap.

“You want me to read you a story?” Rick asked, Judith’s bright blue eyes staring at him as she tried to fit her fist in her mouth. Rick smiled, scanning the bookshelf beside the chair. A recent run had led them to a book shop, and they had nearly cleaned out the children’s section, bringing back a small library for Judith, who was still a few years away from being able to read anything herself.

But Rick enjoyed reading to her, it was a chance to exercise his vocal chords in a house where he had no one to talk to these days. He pulled out a book from the shelf, new and shiny from their latest hunt. “How about this one,” he said, showing off the glossy cover, “The Little Prince.”

As Rick read the story, the little girl would stare at the book, stare at Rick, reach out with her tiny fingers to touch the pages, babbling intermittently. Rick read on, page after page, regardless of whether Judith was paying any attention, of this strange story of a boy prince who lived on a tiny planet and eventually traveled to Earth.

“It was then that the fox appeared,” Rick read, pointing out the little illustration of a fox on the page to Judith. The girl cooed and placed her hand on the picture.

 

He continued:

 

‘ _Who are you,’ asked the little prince, ‘you are very pretty to look at’._

‘ _I am a fox,’ the fox said._

‘ _Come and play with me,’ proposed the little prince. ‘I am so unhappy.’_

‘ _I cannot play with you,’ the fox said. ‘I am not tamed.”_

‘ _What does that mean - ‘tame’?’_

_"It is an act too often neglected," said the fox. It means to establish ties."_

 

Judith was babbling louder and fidgeting around. Rick held her still to keep her from falling off his lap.

 

_'If you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world..."_

 

Rick finished the chapter, with the prince succeeding in “taming” the fictional fox. By the end of it, Judith was squirming so much that Rick knew it was time to put her to bed. He changed her clothes and laid her in the crib, stroking her soft, golden hair as she finally closed her eyes. Rick turned off the light and whispered his goodnights to the sleeping girl.

Rick went downstairs into the kitchen to fix himself a nighttime snack. Some kind of canned something or another which he didn’t bother to heat up, and a few handfuls of stale cereal did the paltry job of filling his stomach.

He returned upstairs, brushed his teeth and slipped under the bed covers. Rick stared at the ceiling in the darkness, his mind wandering, the utter silence of the room feeling disconcerting. He thought of his friends who were far away from Alexandria, like Michonne and Rosita – were they okay in the wilderness, were they sleeping soundly at this very moment? He thought of Daryl and Maggie – were they happy at the Hilltop, or sick with stress from running a community? He pondered wearily, did his friends miss him the way he missed them?

Rick felt suddenly empty, like a small, hollowed out thing. Like a single leaf on a barren tree, flapping hopelessly in the wind with nothing and no one to anchor it down. Although he was the leader of this community, he didn’t have a personal connection with any of the Alexandrians. And even though he knew his friends - whom he considered family – would always be there for him, he could feel they were drifting from him, going about their own ways, the closeness they once had whittling down thinner and thinner.

Like a lighthouse, he guided the way for others, but all boats just passed him by. A vacant space sprouted within him. There was a word for this feeling, Rick knew.

Loneliness.

 

_['Come and play with me,' proposed the little prince. 'I am so unhappy.'_ _]_

 

His thoughts turned to Negan, in the jail cell underneath the surface of Alexandria. Did the prisoner spend the days plotting his ultimate revenge, or has he accepted his incarceration, resigned in his role as a lifelong inmate? If only Negan would speak to him, Rick mused, then Rick could ask him things, get his input, ideas. He knew the former Savior was intelligent and experienced, after all, he built the Sanctuary and commanded over hundreds of people, no easy feat. Negan was a potential wealth of information, but his intense hostility towards Rick likely meant that no friendly fireplace chats were happening any time soon.

 

_["I cannot play with you," the fox said. "I am not tamed."]_

 

Rick thought back to the words of the children's story he read to Judith tonight, his lips forming a ghost of a smile.

 

_['If you want a friend, tame me...'_ _]_

 

* * *

  

The next morning, Rick set off to bring breakfast to Negan. He stopped at the entrance to the stairs leading down to the jail, feeling a mixture of nervousness and dread. Negan would not be happy to see him, he never was, Rick knew, but Rick had a plan to try to engage the inmate in some conversation, which would likely not end well, if previous attempts were any indication. But if he could get Negan to say something other than a variation of “Fuck you,” then that would be a start.

He descended down the stairs, the sound of his footsteps heavy on the concrete. He approached the cell with a tray in hand.

“Good morning, Negan.”

Negan was sitting on the bed, which was nothing more than a mat with a sheet thrown over it, legs stretched out and his back propped up against the wall. He wore a white t-shirt and jeans, his beard starting to grow in since being allowed to shave a week ago. The prisoner turned his head to look at Rick, jaw clenched, with a look of utter disdain on his face, as if to say, _“What the fuck's so good about it, asshole?”_

Negan didn't say a word, of course, still giving Rick the good 'ole silent treatment. But if looks could kill, Rick would be pushing up daisies many times over.

“I brought breakfast,” Rick said lamely, “um, it's pancakes. Tara made them.”

Negan made a scoffing noise, folding his arms across his chest. Rick ignored the rudeness and pushed the tray containing the pancakes and a bottle of water through the slot under the bars.

“We ran out of syrup, but maybe next time-”

“Fuck off, prick,” Negan hissed, a phrase that Rick had come to be very familiar with hearing.

Rick sighed inwardly. He was not going to get anywhere with Negan this morning, but he would get another chance in several hours.

But lunchtime was a bust. So was dinner.

Rick lay in his bed that night, wondering what he could say to break through that daunting, icy exterior that Negan was putting up. Even if to get Negan to say more than three words to him, that would be progress.

 

_['What must I do, to tame you?' asked the little prince._

_'You must be very patient,' replied the fox.]_

 

Yes, Rick thought, he would need to be very patient indeed.

 

* * *

 

The following day when Rick went to deliver lunch, he was determined to get a few sentences out of the prisoner. He arrived at the jail bearing a tray with a plate of canned mystery meat and a piece of bread, acquired from a trade.

Negan was sitting on the bed in the same position as always, reading a book – the only book in his possession; some old, worn, almost falling-apart paperback.

Rick strode up to the bars of the cell, making his presence known. “Negan,” he said in a simple greeting. At this, Negan flicked his eyes up towards Rick with no discernable expression, and then back down to the book. Rick knelt down to pick up the previous tray from that morning and replaced it with the new one. “How was breakfast?”, Rick asked, holding the empty tray. Negan looked up again at the question, eyes furrowed, looking irritated, but still said nothing.

Silence from Negan always felt unnerving, like something wholly unnatural, even after weeks of this behavior. It was something Rick couldn’t get used to, and he didn’t want to get used to it.

“Is, is there something you need, something I can get, maybe another book?”, Rick asked, knowing he was being too generous with his offer. It had been decided early on that Negan be given only the bare minimum, to not spend any more resources on him than what was necessary. So Rick asked the question, not because he could fulfill any requests, but to allow Negan to at least voice them.

Negan made a half groan, half sighing sound like Rick had said something stupid, and snapped his book shut with an audible *thup*. He glared at Rick, steely eyed.

“Look, Negan, I know you don’t want to talk to me, okay,” Rick started, not sure of what to say or where he was headed, but just trying to get words out, “but I just thought – you know, that you should at least-“

“Yeah, there is,” Negan interrupted in a low voice, surprising Rick. Rick held his breath, waiting anxiously and curiously for the inmate’s next words.

“You can get a tall, cool glass of Shut. The Fuck. Up.”

 

Rick trudged his way back up the stairs to the outside world. It didn’t go so well, but a seed of hope planted itself in Rick’s mind. Negan had said a complete sentence to him, in fact, fifteen whole words during that entire exchange. And that, he considered, however miniscule it was, was progress.

 

* * *

 

 

_[‘You must be very patient,’ replied the fox. ‘First you will sit down at a little distance from me--like that--in the grass. I shall look at you out of the corner of my eye… But you will sit a little closer to me, every day…’]_

 

Over the next days, Rick continued to work on Negan, trying to get him to speak a little bit more, engage a little bit further. Rick asked more questions, brought up different topics, hoping to elicit some kind of verbal response.

It was working, however slowly. Whatever brief words Negan did manage to say was always insulting, biting in tone and manner, laden with profanities. Rick tried not to focus on the words themselves, but only on the fact that words – any words – were being said at all.

Instead, Rick focused on Negan’s body language, his facial expressions. Negan was still very much closed off, arms crossed tightly, jaw muscles clenching. His hazel eyes were dark pools, but contained a spark of something, something that was feral and combustible. But other times, when his expression softened, it belied something vulnerable underneath the surface, drawing Rick in.

 

_[‘Who are you?" asked the little prince, ‘You are very pretty to look at.’]_

 

Negan was definitely an attractive man, Rick admitted to himself, which was an exceedingly scarce trait these days in this post-apocalypse. It was kind of a shame that Negan was stuck in this drab cell, tucked away from the rest of the world - all those good looks wasted on dingy concrete walls and metal bars. Rick’s were the only set of eyes that gazed upon the sight of Negan on a regular basis, and in a strange way, it seemed a privilege.

“I have pancakes again,” Rick announced one morning, holding up the tray of Tara’s homemade pancakes to the bars. Negan turned his head and rolled his eyes.

“Did you like them, the last time?” Rick asked, pushing the tray through the slot. Keep asking questions, Rick thought to himself, no matter how silly or mundane, just keep giving Negan opportunities to say something, say anything.

“No one in this town can cook worth shit,” Negan spat, “You substitute rubber cement for batter or something?” 

Rick was a little taken aback. “I, uh, I didn’t make them,” he responded.

“Yeah, no shit, because you would have burned them too. You’re probably the worst goddamn cook on this sorry ass planet.”

“Oh, that so?” Rick panned, his heart beating a little quicker. “I don’t think you’re in a position to be complaining about the food.”

“Whatever. Go piss off now, prick.”

As Rick left, he could sense the cracks forming in Negan’s stone cold barrier. In that last exchange, they were almost bantering – yes, it was a good sign, even if the words were insulting and chock full of contempt. Rick just needed to keep it up, keep talking, keep prodding, a little more each time.

 

* * *

 

_[“You will sit a little closer to me, every day…’]_

 

Rick was getting closer, he could tell. Negan was starting to open up, a little bit more every day. He said more, complained more, ridiculed Rick more. It wasn’t easy to hear. Sometimes, Negan’s verbal abuse would sting Rick in a way that Rick wasn’t prepared for, when Rick thought he could mentally withstand anything Negan threw at him.

But for all the hurtful trash-talking, it was better than the silence.

Another week went by and now they were having actual conversations, albeit very brief conversations, and not very pleasant. Negan talking about how crappy the cell was, how shitty the food was, how his pathetic so-called “bed” was making his back hurt.

“Well,” Rick would reply, looking thoughtful. “I’ll see what I can do. But I can’t promise anything.”

Then one day Rick repeated that line, “I’ll see what I can do,” to another one of Negan’s grievances.

“You’ll ‘ _see what you can do'_?” Negan mocked harshly. “You’re not gonna do shit! Why even bother telling me that crap?”

Rick shook his head, “No, I will-“

“Fuck you, prick,” Negan seethed, eyes darkening in anger. “You don't want me to have anything better than this,” he shouted, gesturing around the cell. “None of you do. That’s why I’m in here, isn’t it? So you and all your little buddies can laugh and snicker about how you beat Big Bad Negan, point and laugh at me like a fuckin’ zoo animal in here? Take everything from me that I built, everything that I busted my ass for, and stick me in some goddamned cage with spiders and roaches and a piss bucket. I bet this shit’s just fuckin’ hilarious to you, right? Are you all up there high-fiving each other, telling stories about how you cut my fuckin’ throat in front of all my people, then dragged me back all fucked up and undignified to this place, like a damn safari trophy? And instead of cutting off my head and sticking it up on your mantel, you keep me alive down here so I can stew in the shame of getting worked the fuck over by a bunch of sorry bastards like yourselves?”

Rick blinked, mouth open, at this angry tirade Negan was spewing. It was the most Negan had said to Rick in the entirety of his captivity. Completely taken aback, Rick’s insides churned uncomfortably, chest tightening. He felt suddenly defensive. Negan’s accusations were wrong, dead wrong.

“No,” Rick stated firmly, his expression incredulous with rising anger. “No, that’s not why you’re here. You’re here so people can see that there’s a better way, that – that we can be better than the likes of you.”

“Get outta here with that bullcrap,” Negan hissed, “You think you’re so righteous? You think you’re the hero, the good guy? Well, news flash – you’re not. You’re not better than me. All I wanted to do was to save people, even fucktards like you.”

Rick scoffed indignantly, incensed. “You – you didn’t save me, you subjugated us, put us under your boot…”

“Of course I saved you,” Negan insisted, “I saved the bunch of your sorry asses that night. You killed thirty of my men, I had every reason wipe you all out, but I didn’t. Everyone else wanted to kill the whole lot of you, everyone – Simon, Arat, all my lieutenants – everyone there was ready to light you all up like the Fourth of July! But I said no, I said we’ll just kill one of them, make use out of the rest of you. They thought I was batshit crazy for saying that, off my fuckin’ rocker for letting you live. And yeah, so I ended up bashing in two skulls that night, but what the fuck was I supposed to do after that dickhead socked me in the face right after I went on and on in front of everyone about shutting that shit down?

“You’d all be dead if it weren’t for me. You’re goddamned lucky that I was there that night instead of just Simon running the show. Simon told me that you were a bunch of crazy, sick bastards and that I might regret not splitting open all of your melons, and you know what, he was right, because look at where I am today. I should’ve killed all of you. Biggest fucking mistake I ever made.”

Rick stood there silent after Negan was finished with his spiel. He looked down at the floor, hands on hips, inhaling a shaky breath. As much as he hated to think it, Negan was likely being truthful. That night in the woods, as horrific a nightmare as it was, it was a miracle that most of Rick’s group had been allowed to live. Surrounded and outnumbered, forced to their knees on the sharp rocks and gravel, Rick had no doubt in his mind that they were about to be executed. There was no way that the retribution for slaughtering dozens of men at that outpost would be anything other than certain death, whether they be immediate or long, drawn-out, painful demises, for each and every one of them. After all, that’s what Rick would have done, if the situation was reversed.

“Okay,” Rick breathed, nodding at the floor, “you spared us,” he admitted reluctantly. “But you terrorized whole communities with your tyranny, you can't expect us not to rise up against you someday.”

The air hung thick with bitter tension that could be sliced with a knife, the harsh words that were spilled still lingering heavily, noiselessly echoing around them. It was deathly quiet once more.

Rick broke the silence after a few uncomfortable moments. “You didn't make a mistake,” he said in a softer tone, “in not killing us. Because now we're rebuilding, we're making things better. The way things should be. What we're doing – it's going to work. You'll see. It will work.” _It has to work, has to_ , Rick repeated in his head like a mantra.

 

Rick returned home feeling drained. He climbed up the stairs to his daughter's room, giving Judith a tired smile as she happily gurgled and reached for him. _At least someone is happy to see me_ , he thought, thinking back to the tense exchange with Negan earlier.

It was a major breakthrough, to be honest. It was as if a dam had broken, and all the rancor and vitriol came rushing out of Negan in verbal format, causing a massive flood of resentment aimed at Rick. At least Negan was talking again, even though everything he had said didn't sit well with Rick, he thought wistfully. But it was an important insight into Negan's thoughts, and though Rick didn't agree, he could understand where Negan was coming from.

 

_['One only understands the things that one tames,’ said the fox. ‘Men have no more time to understand anything.']_

 

Rick decided he wanted to understand better. 


	2. Chapter 2

The next time Rick arrived to tend to the prisoner, he brought with him a few items in addition to the usual tray of food. A couple of books - in almost new condition, to replace the lone, tattered paperback - as well as a pair of shakers of salt and pepper. Negan had eyed the items suspiciously, then glanced up at the man who proffered them.

“Gifts? Why, you shouldn’t have,” Negan stated mirthlessly, thick sarcasm rolling over his tongue, yet his eyes conveyed something different as soon as he said it.

“I thought you could use them,” Rick simply replied with a slight shrug.

Rick knew he wasn’t supposed to be “wasting” anything on Negan. It had been agreed amongst most of the Alexandrians, including Michonne and the others, that it was bad enough keeping Negan alive, expending food and water on him, so they were certainly not going to extend any kind of creature comforts to the enemy captive. But now it just didn’t sit right with Rick. It only caused a lot of resentment, as Negan’s rant from the day before indicated.

Over the next several days, Rick continued to provide various things to Negan as long as the objects were small and easy to obtain. A notepad, a pen, a clock, a bottle of hot sauce - all these little things that Negan had lamented about not having at one time or another. The recipient didn’t overtly voice much appreciation, but Rick could tell it was having a positive effect.

Rick arrived one day to see Negan reading one of the books he had recently given him. “How are those new books?” he inquired.

Half expecting to hear a sarcastic or scathing remark from the inmate, Rick was pleasantly surprised when “This one’s alright,” was the answer, spoken rather casually, without looking up. Negan followed it up with, “That one over there is a user’s manual for a dang washer and dryer,” indicating with a flick of his eyes at the booklet on the floor by the bars. “Might wanna swap that one out.”

Rick nodded, smiling to himself. “Were you much of a reader, back in the old days?” he ventured to ask, desperately attempting to make some kind of small talk. It was a stupid question, one that would have earned him a two-worded expletive a few days ago, but Rick could feel that something had shifted, so here he was trying again.

Negan lifted his head and looked at Rick, hesitant to speak, eyebrows slightly knitted, seemingly weighing the options to either give an answer or to shut down this potentially annoying line of questioning. It was a simple yes or no question, but the answers Negan could respond with were limitless and he seemed to be mulling over each and every possibility. Rick swallowed, stilled his breathing as worrisome seconds passed.

After what felt like ages, Negan finally replied. “Not really.”

“Yeah, me neither,” Rick quickly replied back. “Never even picked up a book. But lately, I’ve been reading. Mostly bedtime stories to Judith.”

There was another awkward silence that seemed to stretch forever, and then –

“How is she?”

“She’s good, good,” Rick smiled, feeling a slightly bit giddy. “She’s getting big. I’m not going to be able to keep up with her pretty soon.”

It felt like a tide turning. They could have a full minute’s dialogue without critical derision or stony condemnation and it really felt like a monumental shift forward. In that moment, Negan had decided to engage instead of biting back or pulling away. It seemed they had crossed a hump after the day of Negan’s big blowup and the raging floodwaters had dissipated into calmer currents. Rick felt they had finally reached some semblance of civility, as delicate and tenuous as it still was.

Rick brought salads of fresh fruit and vegetables from the garden, the occasional can of soda with lunch, a packet of gum, outdated magazines with unsolved crossword puzzles in the back pages.

The ice was melting. After a time, Rick could even sit a few feet away from the cell in a tiny folding chair, and have small, unimportant conversations with the inmate while he ate. Rick tried to keep the topics light, talking about the weather and whatnot, things that were going on in Alexandria. Negan would offer some tidbits, and he could still be at times sarcastic and say things that could be deemed as button-pushing, but gone was the outright hostility and venom that Rick knew Negan was so capable of.

Rick brought over a flashlight, nail clippers, a baseball he found in his attic.

A deck of playing cards. Air freshener. Even a small, potted plant.

“It's like Christmas in July,” Negan declared. “So what's the deal? Why am I getting showered with all these shiny new goodies when I never got jack shit before?”

Rick thought about it. Was it because he felt guilty? Was it because it was a way to get closer to Negan? “I, - I changed my mind,” he stated matter-of-factly. “I don't want you to feel... deprived. I don't want you to feel like no one cares about what happens to you.”

A look crossed Negan's face like he was trying to figure something out, a sort of a confused wonderment. “So is everyone just hunky-dory with me getting all these things now?”

“Well, not really,” Rick answered meekly. “It's my call.” Rick hadn't told anyone that he was supplying Negan with all these extras, and when people inevitably find out, he'd probably have a lot of explaining to do.

“So what you're saying is that _you're_ the only one who cares about what happens to me,” the inmate said, a statement and not a question.

“I didn't say I was the only one,” replied Rick after a beat, “but, I care, yeah.”

 

Over the days, Negan’s cell went from a bare-bones, dismally empty space, to a simple, sort-of living area. A portable tray table acted as a shelf for the several books of the very modest “library”. A small pyramid of empty aluminum cans was growing in the corner. A couple of paper airplanes folded from ripped-out magazine pages lay scattered on the floor.

Negan would sometimes throw out some ridiculous, unserious requests, like “an Italian leather couch set with decorative throw pillows,” or “one of those giant ass chandeliers.” Rick would scoff gently with a grin and shake his head, saying, “you’ll have to settle for whatever I bring you.”

Rick would keep an eye out for things he could give to Negan, things that would be useful or just things that could provide a distraction.

Sometimes an item he brought would elicit a smile from Negan, soft and amused, at Rick’s thoughtfulness. The sight of that would warm Rick’s insides, his heart feeling light and airy as if on helium. It was the same when Negan would address him now by his actual name instead of the derogatory “prick”. Negan could have a voice as sweet as honey when he so chose to, and however brief it lasted, it was happening more and more as time went on.

It was like they were almost bordering on something stable now. Each interaction like wispy little threads coming together to make something tangible, something that you could place on the palm of your hand and it wouldn’t shatter as soon as you looked at it. Rick knew he had to keep nurturing this current state just as he nurtured the precious plants in his garden – moreso, even.

They moved on from the weather to more personal topics. They would talk about what they missed from the old world – baseball games, cell phones and steak dinners. Negan would ask about Judith, and Rick would share the tale of her latest tantrum or a grand act of toddler cuteness. They’d talk about past hobbies, the kinds of beers they liked, and other safe, non-threatening subjects.

When Rick descended the concrete stairs that led down into the jail, he did so with anticipation building in his gut. Strangely, it almost felt like he was about to meet someone who he hadn’t seen in a long time. Or perhaps rather, like he was about to go out on a second or third date. He wondered if Negan, upon hearing his footsteps come down those steps, felt similarly at all.

Most recently, Negan started to greet him with a “hey, Rick,” before Rick even reached the bottom of the stairs.

 

_['I shall know the sound of a step that will be different from all the others. Other steps send me hurrying back underneath the ground. Yours will call me, like music, out of my burrow.']_

 

* * *

 

Rick sat in the chair just outside the bars of the cell, close enough that he could reach through the bars if he extended his arm. They had been talking more lately, not just limiting to light topics. Rick would stay anywhere from fifteen to thirty minutes each time, or until Rick looked at this watch and realized that too much time had passed. At times, it felt like chatting with an old friend, something that Rick missed greatly. But then he would remember who he was talking to, and it would feel strange knowing that this was the same man who had terrorized people so badly.

“Why did you rule over the Saviors the way you did,” Rick asked, a bold question, one that he wouldn't have dreamed of asking before, but he felt they were now at a point where they could have a deeper conversation without either of them getting hostile. “Why the fear tactics, the harsh punishments? I'm not judging or criticizing, I just – I just want to... understand.”

Negan looked at Rick as though to see if the question was really serious. Rick hoped he hadn't overstepped any boundaries, that he wouldn't lose any progress he had made with the volatile prisoner. When Negan took too long to answer, Rick regretted asking and sought to change the subject.

“To keep people alive,” Negan said, like it was obvious.

Rick tilted his head to the side, “But, but how-”

“By keeping them in line,” the former Savior leader stated. “Rick, in case you haven't noticed, when the world went to shit, people became complete and total douchebags. There's no more laws, no more morals, everyone does whatever they want, take whatever they want, hurt whoever the fuck they want. People – at their very core, are selfish motherfuckers.

“So I set the rules, and I had to enforce the rules. Because if I didn't enforce the rules, even bullshit ones like 'no littering', then all chaos ensues. When people figure out they can get away with shit, they start doing the really fucked up shit, like murder and rape.

“I was in charge of over five hundred people, Rick, with new recruits joining all the time. There was no HR to conduct any goddamn 'workplace sensitivity training'. I did what I had to do. Yeah, I scared the everloving piss outta people by being a brutal asshole, and it kept them in line. When everyone stays in line, everyone stays safe.”

It made sense in some weird and twisted way, Rick thought. Although Rick would never choose to go down that path, he could at least 'get it'. There was a method to Negan's madness.

“Okay, I can get that,” Rick offered. “I get it. But what about-,” Rick continued with caution, knowing that his next question was entering a touchy subject, but since Negan seemed to be opening up, he just had to ask it, “what about what you did to other communities, taking half their supplies, and killing their people?” It was uncomfortable to even say it, to ask it. It brought back a lot of horrible memories for Rick, and though he knew he had to get past it, move forward, he wanted to get Negan's side of it, to hear the man explain it in his own words.

Negan drew a heavy sigh and looked up at the ceiling, the tiny cracks in the concrete suddenly interesting. There seemed to be a sense of remorse that was eating away at him, hammering in tiny imaginary nails of regret. After all, this was the reason Negan was in this prison in the first place.

“I had to feed my people, Rick. I had to provide for them,” Negan was unapologetic in that statement, but grief resided below the surface.

“In the beginning, when it was just me and a couple of others, we started looking for more people, taking them in. We grew really quickly and it was rough. We were taking in people too fast. We were all starving,” he continued. “So I took a group of us out scavenging, out in the wild. We didn't find any food, but we came across a group of people. They had a camp set up. They looked like they were doing well, had some pretty cozy digs.

“So I decide to go and ask them if they could share any food with us, as in, you know, 'howdy fellow survivors, the world ending sure does suck, hey how about helping out your fellow human beings in need, man we'd really appreciate any help you could give, us good folks have got to stick together in this crazy world...'

“Well, they weren't the friendly type. They attacked us. We fought back. We lost five of our men, they lost three. I was about to kill their leader and they surrendered.

“We could have taken them all out. My group wanted to kill them all and take all their food and shit for ourselves. It would've been easy. But I didn't want to do that. So we struck a deal with them. They offered to give us half of everything they had right then and there. But my men weren't happy with that. They had killed five of us and they only lost three. My men wanted to kill one more of them to 'even things up'.

“But I said no. We could even things up another way. We'd keep returning and they'd give us more food. The camp agreed to that and everything was all fine and dandy - for awhile.

“When we went back for the third pickup, the camp was gone. Splitsville. Packed up all their shit and got the hell outta Dodge. Not a trace of them left. We were right back to square one. We were fucked.

“We still had families to feed - kids, old people. My men wanted to find another group, do the same thing to them. Fight, kill and conquer, make them give us half their shit, but do it to a bigger community, one where they couldn’t just pick up and leave. They had their minds made up, they were going to do this thing with or without me, so I spoke up.

“I said we didn’t have to fight. I knew there would be a shitload of deaths on both sides if we did. So I proposed that we’d go in there, gather everybody around, tell them _what’s what_ in no uncertain terms, and if they balked, we’d kill just *one* of theirs. One kill was all it would take. Some poor unlucky bastard would die, and he would die in such a fucking blaze of blood and gore, that everyone would shit their pants so hard that they’d be begging us to please take their shit off their hands.

“I didn’t like doing it. But it was better than ten dead, better than twenty fuckers dead from fighting. Fast and effective. So we kept doing it. Yeah, we never won any popularity contests, but it kept my people fed and the maximum number of people alive.”

Rick stared ahead, processing all this new information he wondered just how many people were privy to. It was eye-opening, sobering and it gave a perspective to the other side of things that Rick could have never imagined.

“And sometimes maybe I went overboard,” Negan admitted, now looking tired, the lines on this face more prominent. “Some things went to my head, yeah, okay, but I never lost sight of the big picture.”

“What was the big picture?” Rick asked, voice low, just above a whisper.

Negan sighed and shook his head, gave a small humorless laugh. “To save enough people so we can take back this world from those undead fuckers.”

A myriad of emotions flicked through Rick’s face, until he nodded solemnly in understanding. “We still can,” he said with an amount of certainty. “And we will.”

A moment of silence passed between them with Negan looking weary and unconvinced. Rick leaned forward in his chair, placing a hand around one of the bars.

“Look, Negan,” Rick voiced, disturbing the silence, “I wish things would have turned out differently, I wish you would have chosen a different way - but, I understand it now. I can understand why you did it.” Rick smiled a small but sincere smile as he held Negan’s gaze. “Thank you for telling me.”

 

_["One only understands the things that one tames," said the fox.]_

 

* * *

 

Some days later, Michonne, Rosita and Aaron returned from their run, their vehicles packed full of goods. From furniture to packaged food, to medicine, clothing and children’s toys, it had been a wildly successful outing. Rick spent the day itemizing and storing all the newly scavenged goods to their rightful places. Anything else that didn’t quite belong anywhere went into the storage building, for future use.

When everything was distributed or put away, Rick was left contemplating one particular item. He ran a hand through his trimmed beard, weighing the pros and cons of what he was considering. Certainly, there would be people who would object, perhaps rather loudly. But Rick brushed off the thought with a mental, _ah, screw it_ , and took a hold of the object in question.

Negan looked up from his book as he heard the clank and creak of the upstairs door swinging open. The sound of Rick’s footsteps followed, as expected, but this time accompanied by another noise, of something being dragged.

Rick came down the stairs, lugging an entire, brand new twin-sized mattress with him. Negan only stared in amazement as Rick approached the cell.

“Damn, Rick,” the prisoner said, a wide grin spreading across his face, “That for me?”

“Well, you said your back hurt, right?” Rick asked rhetorically, returning a smile. He procured the jail key and pushed opened the cell door, shoving the end of the mattress inside. Once it was placed where the mat, or the “sorry excuse for a bed” used to be, Negan beamed brightly.

“Your people okay with this?” the inmate asked, “I mean, this is a hell of a lot bigger than a house plant.”

Rick already knew the answer. He had seen the glaring looks and puzzled faces of the townsfolk as he carried the bulky mattress to the building where the prison was. Rick shrugged, realizing he didn't really care. “Doesn't matter. If someone has a problem with it, they can take it up with me.”

“Thattaboy, Rick, you show 'em who's boss,” Negan joked lightheartedly.

Rick nodded as he stood in the doorway, a swell in his chest, as they exchanged glances.

“Well, I better get going,” he commented after a few beats, almost hesitantly, fishing out the keys in order to lock the cell back up.

Negan slowly pushed the cell door closed, while at the same time Rick pulled it. When the door closed shut, their hands were touching at the metal bars, fingers brushing against the other's. Neither moved their hands while Rick inserted the key and turned the lock.

“Hey, Rick,” Negan said as Rick was about to turn to leave. “I know you're risking an ass-chewing when you get up there. I just want to say...thanks.”

Rick looked at the man through the bars, their close proximity tangible, only separated by slender metal rods. He gave a warm smile and a single nod. “You're welcome.”


	3. Chapter 3

_['My life is very monotonous,' the fox said, 'And, in consequence, I am a little bored. But if you tame me, it will be as if the sun came to shine on my life.']_

 

“So, I've been thinking,” Rick said one day, “that you could start working, you know, make yourself useful. There's a lot to do, and you could help me.”

Negan shot Rick a bewildered stare. “What? You mean, _outside_?”

“Yeah, outside.”

“You shitting me?”

“No,” Rick stated seriously. “For thirty minutes, every day. You come out, help out around town, then come back here. Mrs. Johnson has a broken fence, you can help me fix it. The steps in front of the infirmary needs to be repaired, things like that. I figured it would be good for you to do something. It must get boring, reading books and making paper airplanes.”

The prisoner still seemed a bit stunned. “Well, heck yeah, it's as dull as a doorknob in here, Rick, but is everyone going to be okay with me going out there?”

“Yes,” Rick grinned, somewhat proudly. “I already told them at the last town meeting. Not everyone is crazy about it, but they've accepted it.”

 

It was a tough sell, but Rick had gone into the town meeting with a goal in mind, he had gone in prepared for what to say. “In the old world, the prison system was not just for incarceration, it was for rehabilitation too,” he had stated to the room full of Alexandrians. “Put him to work, let him be useful. To grow as a community, we need all the help we can get.”

Some residents balked at the idea, of course. “But isn't he dangerous?” they questioned.

“He'll be alright,” Rick informed them. “He'll be with me at all times. I won't let him near anyone else, until he's proven himself.”

“But how can we trust him, after what he’s done?” a woman said.

“I’m not asking you to give your trust,” Rick stated, hands on his hips. “Trust is earned. I only ask that we give him the opportunity to start earning it.”

A man in the front row piped up. “Why has he been getting things, like brand new beds?”, he said in quite an accusatory tone. Rick knew this question would come up, had predicted it for quite some time.

“Yes, I gave him things. Things of inconsequence. None of it takes away anything from the rest of us,” Rick stated adamantly. “And all the more reason to let him work. Make him earn those things, make him give back to the community.”

“But a bed?” the same man voiced with displeasure.

“A mattress,” Rick corrected. “And I made sure no one else wanted it first, I wouldn’t have given it away if someone else could have used it. Besides, it will benefit us to have his cooperation, and if giving him a few things will get him to cooperate, then I don’t see a downside.” Rick scanned the room – faces of resignation, blank expressions or stone-cold scowls met his gaze – but no one said anything.

“I’m not asking for you to like it, only to give it a chance,” Rick continued. “If it doesn’t work out, if he messes up, he’ll go back to the jail for good.” He shot a glance over to his friends who were standing by the side of the audience – Michonne, Tara and Rosita included – and they didn’t look happy at all, in fact they looked downright pissed, and yet, they didn’t say anything either. Rick knew he would probably get an earful from them later, but it didn’t matter. He had won this battle.

 

“Is someone going to shoot me as soon as I stick my head outside?” Negan asked, no doubt concerned about his safety. “I’m betting there’s more than a few who would love to put a slug in my ass.”

 

_[‘Men hunt me.’]_

 

Rick shook his head, “No, no. You’ll be fine. Just make sure you stick by me.”

“Sure thing, Rick. I can do that.”

 

So the next day, Rick led Negan out of the jail and into the sunlight. The inmate squinted in the sun, a hand hovering over his eyes to block the sudden solar assault. Rick watched as Negan slowly lowered his arm as his eyes adjusted to the daylight and a genuine, happy smile spread over Negan’s face. Rick beamed on the inside, a tingling warmness spreading in his chest. Just that one sight made it all worth it.

They walked through the neighborhood, which was quiet and still. A few townsfolk gave them some curious looks from a distance. Rick was careful not to allow Negan and other Alexandrians too close to each other during these first few outings, until everyone got used to the idea of Negan being let out, even if it was only for thirty minutes a day. He couldn’t risk any kind of confrontation or altercation happening. This was Negan’s only chance to re-establish himself as a functioning member of society, so it had to succeed – for Negan’s sake, Rick nervously thought. And if Rick was being honest, for himself too.

They came to a house, a white picket fence surrounding the property. A section of the fence had come apart, leaving a wide, gaping hole. A bunch of tools and replacement parts already lay at the site, waiting for someone to administer them.

“Is this what you do all day, Rick? Are you the town handyman?” Negan asked with a teasing grin.

“Sometimes,” Rick admitted. “For some reason, everyone comes to me when their stuff breaks. Leaky pipes, pot holes, loose shingles,” he listed off, rolling his eyes.

“Damn, you really do have your hands full, don’t you?”

The two men made quick work with the fence, working together in comfortable comradery. Rick could tell Negan had experience with fixing things, for he seemed to be good with his hands as well. Soon enough, it was time for Negan to return to the cell, but Rick was pleased with how the day turned out. Yes, Rick thought, this could actually work.

 

Everyday Rick let Negan out to work on some small job. When all the small jobs were done, they worked on some bigger jobs. People still kept their distance, but they were starting to get used to the sight of Negan around. The fact that Negan didn’t seem to raise anyone’s alarm bells anymore was a massive step forward. The people could see the work he was doing, how he was working with Rick – who was once his savage enemy – so easily.

But that didn’t mean there wasn’t still a lot of concern amongst some people.

As expected, Rick’s friends eventually confronted him about his newfound attitude towards their enemy prisoner. Michonne had been the one to speak on their behalf, her being the closest to Rick. “Do you really think Negan can be rehabilitated?”, she had asked, “What if he’s just trying to gain your trust and one day he’ll hurt somebody?”

“No, he won’t,” Rick said, replying to the second question. “I’ve talked to him, worked with him. He’s changed. You’ve seen it too.”

“Yes, but it doesn’t mean that he’s still not dangerous. If he does anything, tries anything, I want to know that you’ll do what’s right. I don’t like it, none of us do, but speaking just for myself, I’m willing to give this a chance, see how it goes. But Rick – if he gets out of line... _you_ will be responsible for it.”

Rick understood and nodded, noting the seriousness of Michonne’s warning. “Yeah, I know I’ll be.”

“If you want to keep giving him things, fine,” she continued. “If you want to try to turn him into a model citizen, well that’s your call, but whether he makes it or not, that’s going to be on you.”

“I know.”

Rick understood the gravity of it. He knew if this situation with Negan went sideways, that Rick would be blamed for it. But he had confidence that he had made the right decision. Rick felt he now understood Negan better than any other living soul. Negan just wasn’t what everyone thought he was, but no one would believe it if he told them. It was up to Rick to show them. Rick had to make sure it worked out, he was putting his own leadership and reputation on the line and he was accountable for what happened to his people.

And to Negan.

 

_[‘Men have forgotten this truth,’ said the fox. ‘But you must not forget it. You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed’.]_

 

The jobs were taking longer. Soon, thirty minutes became forty-five, and forty-five became sixty. Eventually, the original time limit seemed to have vanished, with Negan staying out for as long as Rick allowed, sometimes for hours.

If people noticed this disregard of the time restriction, they didn’t say anything. Rick was all too pleased, and he knew Negan appreciated being outside for longer periods, wanting to stay by Rick’s side for as long as possible, a temporary taste of what real life could be like in Alexandria.

 

They built a tool shed together.

Rick held up and arranged a wooden plank in place, preparing to nail it down. “Hey, Negan, can you grab my hammer?” he called out.

“Why, Rick, what kind of guy do think I am?” Negan smirked, his tone sweet and playful. He proceeded to pick up the aforementioned tool lying near Rick’s feet, held it out for Rick to take, handle first.

Rick shot Negan a look, holding back a grin but failing. His skin felt flushed from the midday sun and something else. He reached out and took hold of the handle of the proffered hammer, but didn't pull it from Negan's hand.

“Apparently,” Rick replied, “the kind of guy who will grab my hammer when asked,” he finished with a smirk of his own, finally plucking the tool from the other man.

Negan blinked, then widened his smile, seemingly not expecting for Rick to play along like that.

“How right you are, Rick.”

 

Over the weeks, they got a lot done, completing many of the jobs that were neglected before or fell by the wayside, when Rick didn't have the time or motivation to finish them. But now things were getting squared away and Rick was proud of their work. Negan surprisingly had a very good work ethic and knew a lot about building and repairing.

During breaks, they would lean their backs against a building or a fence, side by side, passing a bottle of water or pre-mixed lemonade between the two of them. These were the times where it felt easy and natural, like they were never enemies, like they never tried to kill each other and Negan wasn’t living in a dusty cell beneath the town. Rick could feel they were connecting on an individual level now, their painful history drifting farther away, these present tranquil moments feeling real and solid.

"What’s next?” Negan would inquire, after they finished a job. Rick would ponder, listing off yet another chore to tackle – clearing a fallen tree, patching up cracks in the sidewalk.

“So what’s next, Rick?” Negan would say again after the following job was done, looking at Rick rather expectantly. After a while, Rick couldn’t help but feel that Negan wasn’t asking about the next job or task, there was something Negan wasn’t saying, words that were being omitted.

Rick could imagine what Negan really meant - ‘What’s next… _for us_?’

There was something between them, Rick knew it. Something that had been simmering just below the surface, and it took the right conditions for it to blossom into something vastly genuine and promising. Rick felt it in the pit of his stomach, in the back of his throat, this teeming attraction that had manifested, tempting and seductive. And it became more undeniable with each passing day.

He could hear it when their conversations - joking and lighthearted - would turn flirtatious, subtle yet obvious. It made his palms sweat and his blood rush, and it had nothing to do with whatever manual labor he was undertaking.

He could see it when their glances would linger a little too long on each other, looking away with a grin when the current task at hand became pressing, remembering to not get distracted when using sharp objects or machinery.

He could feel it when they worked closely, bumping or brushing against one another. Hands touching when passing tools to each other, heated and intentional.

And when it was time to lock Negan back in the cell, Rick felt a deep pang of regret, like he was sending a puppy back to the pound.

“Am I ever getting out of here,” Negan asked one time, at the day’s end, before Rick left after delivering his dinner, “for good?” His dark hazel eyes searched Rick’s face, silently pleading. Rick once again felt that pang.

“It’s supposed to be a life sentence,” Rick reminded him, almost apologetically, unable to hide the disappointment in his own voice.

“What about time off for good behavior?” Negan said, leaning his head against the bars, a sly smile on his lips. “I’ve been good, haven’t I?”

Rick could feel a flush creep up to his face, and he hoped that Negan didn’t notice.

“Yeah,” Rick croaked out, “yeah, you have.”

“So what more do I have to do, Rick,” Negan implored, his voice dropping to a low purr. “I can be good, Rick. I can be really, _really_ good.”

A silent shudder went through Rick, little electric currents spreading from his belly to his extremities. He leaned forward, mere inches away, a curve of a smile adorning his features. “How good?” he breathed with a slight tilt of his head, voice barely above a whisper.

Negan gave a deep chuckle at the man’s boldness, as he leaned closer to the bars. “Would you like to find out?” he offered, locking eyes with Rick.

Rick couldn’t help but think of the stark contrast between the Negan from before, giving him the angry silent treatment, to the Negan standing before him now.

Negan was waiting for an answer but Rick couldn’t give one at that moment. He had to take a step back, collect himself. “Not now,” Rick said, trying to temper the situation. Negan’s expression faltered, replaced with confusion and a little something like hurt. Rick immediately noticed it and added, “But soon.”

 

_[‘So the little prince tamed the fox.’]_

 

* * *

 

_[‘It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.’]_

 

They carried on as usual the next day, with Rick bringing Negan to work in the gardens for a few hours. For the last few days, Rick had started allowing the prisoner to work closer to the other townspeople. Most of the Alexandrians didn’t seem so weary of the inmate anymore, accepting his presence slowly but surely. Rick could actually envision a future where Negan could be a fully integrated member of Alexandria, and even if it took years, the idea of the possibility filled Rick with a hopeful vision of the times ahead.

The workday ended with no mention of the conversation they had the evening before.

Hours later, Rick showed up again at the usual time he would deliver Negan’s dinner, only this time he came empty-handed. Instead, he unlocked the cell and said, “Come on,” with a jerk of his head.

Negan stepped out of the cell not understanding what was going on, but he was glad to be out of there regardless. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” he asked.

“I have another job for you,” Rick vaguely explained. Negan waited for him to continue with the details but Rick only indicated for Negan to follow him. The inmate huffed in slight annoyance but followed anyway.

Outside the sun was dipping below the horizon and the air grew cooler. The neighborhood was quiet as all the residents had retired to their homes for the evening. They walked in silence, Negan shooting Rick curious, inquiring looks and getting an occasional turn of the head and a half smirk from Rick in return.

If Negan expected to be brought to another job site to fix a broken window or an uneven staircase, then he would be surprised to find himself climbing the steps to the front door of Rick’s own home.

They entered the house, warm and quiet, the lights already on. Rick knew that Negan had been in his house before, making himself quite cozy and at home with a nervous Carl beside him. Rick had been furious at the time upon finding out, feeling like the Savior leader had invaded and disrupted the sanctity of his personal residence, but that seemed so long ago now, so faraway like it happened in an altogether different lifetime.

Rick led them into the spacious kitchen, where Negan looked at him perplexed, raising an eyebrow. All across the kitchen counter was a multitude of foodstuffs, as if someone had just gone on a grocery store shopping spree. Fresh vegetables from the garden - including bright red tomatoes, onions, green bell peppers, celery – various canned goods and boxes of prepackaged food brought in from the pantry, big and little jars of spices and seasonings. In addition, cutting boards and knives were already laid out, empty pots and pans sat idly on the stove.

“What’s this?” was the only thing Negan could get out.

“You’re going to teach me how to cook,” Rick informed him pleasantly, enjoying Negan’s surprised expression. “I seem to remember you saying that I was ‘the worst cook on this sorry ass planet’.”

Negan laughed heartedly, clapping a hand on Rick’s shoulder, “You goddamn were, Rick. And you still are.”

Rick took the well-intentioned insult in stride. “Okay, then you can show me. Carl told me about the spaghetti you made.”

They went to work, heating up a pot of water and cutting up the vegetables. Negan’s teaching style wasn’t as much “I’ll-show-you-what-do-to,” but more along the lines of, “just-do-it-and-I’ll–tell-you-if-you’re-doing-it-wrong.” It was fun and all done with good humor, with Negan teasingly chastising Rick for cutting the vegetables too coarse, and Rick intentionally moving slowly so Negan would get impatient and end up chopping them up himself.

Rick was quietly impressed. Negan seemed to be a pro at cooking, knowing exactly how long to simmer or boil something, knowing when to add another ingredient to the pot. That was something Rick never even considered – the timing of everything - which explained why his creations were always either raw or burnt to a fire-alarm-tripping cinder.

Many times they would get into each other’s space, reaching over or stepping around each other with bodies grazing and brief touches on the arms and back, even though the kitchen counter was expansive enough for both of them to have their own workspace. It was clear though that neither of them minded.

“How did you learn to cook?” Rick asked.

Negan shrugged lightly. “My grandmother was a hell of a cook and so was my mother. I was a line cook when I was sixteen. I just picked things up here and there.”

Making fresh pasta sauce from scratch took hours, and it was already late into the evening, though the time seemed to move by quickly. All their efforts looked to be worth it. They took turns stirring the bubbling pot of the well-seasoned sauce with wooden spoons, the tantalizing aroma and heat permeating throughout the entire house.

The two men crowded in front of the stove, peering into the simmering rich-red sauce, close together and arms touching.

“Is it ready yet?” Rick asked, inhaling the smell, “I’m starving now.”

“So impatient, Rick,” Negan tsked playfully. “But yeah, it’s just about done.” He gave the pot another stir and pulled the long wooden spoon out. Holding the handle, he extended the end of the spoon towards Rick, the thick sauce clinging to it. “Here. Taste.”

Rick glanced at the tip of the sauce-covered utensil, wisps of steam rising from it, then looked back at Negan, who was wearing an expectant grin. Rick leaned forward and tasted the sauce, licking the excess off his lips. “Mmm, that’s good,” he drawled out, the hot burst of flavors satisfying on his palate.

“Need more salt?” Negan asked.

“No, it’s perfect. You taste it,” Rick instructed, picking up another spoon and dipping it into the sauce. He held the spoon out to Negan the same way he had to Rick, only Rick didn’t extend it out quite as far, causing Negan to lean in closer in order to taste it.

“Damn, that _is_ good,” Negan declared, voice low and nearly suggestive, savoring the heady mixture of spices on his tongue, obviously proud of his handiwork.

Neither men moved from their positions, standing face to face with each other as the seconds stretched out. Steady gazes locked them in place and the room around them seemed to shrink. The opportunity was never more obvious and glaring as it was at that moment.

They closed the short distance between them and kissed, first tentatively, then deepening, slow and languid, as they took a step away from the hot stove to keep from getting accidently burned. They could taste the tangy sweetness of homemade spaghetti sauce in each other’s mouth, delicious and intoxicating. Negan roved his hands all over Rick’s back and around the waist, bunching up the flannel shirt, as Rick crept his hands up to the back of the taller man’s head, stroking possessively through the dark hair. Everything fell away as lips moved and tongues slid warmly against the other, until it was only them left in existence.

The kiss broke with a soft, wet sound, hands still lingering on each other, chests pressed together with quickened, flustered heartbeats. After catching a breath, Negan still had the foresight to break away and quickly shut off the stove before returning to their embrace.

Rick smiled as he went in for another kiss. If it were him, he would have let it burn.

 

_[‘He was only a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But I have made him my friend, and now he is unique in all the world.’]_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading and I so greatly appreciate all who have left comments and kudos. My first foray in publishing fanfic and it's pretty exciting! :)


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